Aftershocks
by Shannonlass1
Summary: An experimental, short vignette on the final moments of the movie. A little AlexClear thrown in.


In one moment, it was all over, and Carter Horton was dead. Later on Alex and Clear admitted guiltily that they should've been more prepared. They should've known that Death's design would never cease, until It's job had been done. Death created no accidents. It planned, It acted, and then if It was duped, It merely bided Its time until a new opportunity arose out of the dust of It's failure. They should've been more alert, especially after Alex survived one of its attempts.  
  
But it was already too late...  
  
"...Mademoiselle...Rivers, is it?" a tall, buxom French brunette asked. She smirked. Clear arched an eyebrow. They expected her to believe this woman was Head Lieutenant of Foreign Affairs? Please. She could've been Kate Moss' twin sister. She paced back and forth across the lime-green linoleum, Versace pumps clicking rhythmically. Clear followed her with her eyes.  
  
"Yeah, that's right," she said, crossing her legs. She looked like a walking Gap ad compared to her.  
  
"Well then," the Kate Moss look-alike said, finally sitting down. "Let's get started, shall we?" She smiled garishly. Clear's eyes almost hurt.  
  
"Yes, let's!" Clear said in her most Barbie-like tone. The look- alike's smile faded, and she got an 'I-understand-you're-a-kid-and-have- trouble-keeping-your-youthful-exuberance-in-check-so-I'll-let-that-one-go- but-I'm-trying-to-get-something-done-so-would-you-just-fucking-cooperate?' look in her large brown eyes.  
  
"You understand why you're here, do you not?" she asked me, her tone significantly lowered. Clear wondered if this was some sort of secret.  
  
"Actually I do not," Clear said, leaning forward, and matching her conspiratorial tone.  
  
"You're here to tell me exactly what happened the night of June twenty-sixth, at precisely 11:16 p.m.," she said, pulling out a notepad. Clear took this as her cue to start talking.  
  
"I've already been interrogated," she said.  
  
"I know you have," look-alike answered, nodding. "But by the police. They are the small fry. Inconclusive bastards. Their job is to investigate the crime scene, then when they've mulled over what little evidence they have, they mail it over to – voila- you guessed it, the French Embassy. And last time I checked I was the head of that, so..." she waited for me to start talking. Clear licked her lips and looked around the room, stalling. She didn't really know how to begin this. She'd never really given a full confessional about it. It was nearly four weeks after the incident. Clear had been doing a good job of moving on, rebuilding, sharing every waking moment with Alex, the one person in the world she could still count on.  
  
"OK," Clear said. "I'll talk."  
  
"Good," she said, smiling. She looked triumphant.  
  
"But listen, lady. You haven't won anything. I'll tell you what happened, but I'm warning you. This stuff isn't child's play. It's the real deal. You don't fuck with Death. It fucks with you," Clear said. Look-alike looked unconvinced, but nodded, prompting Clear to continue. Clear took a deep breath, ready to release her most deep-seated fears and innermost thoughts to someone who probably shagged Luke Perry on the side. Most importantly, someone Clear hardly knew. She had never even told Alex as much as she was about to tell this woman.  
  
"We landed in Paris earlier that evening. We wanted to go look around but it was too late, and we figured we could get a better look during the day. We did see a spectacular view on top of the Eiffel Tower, though," Clear said, grinning a little. "That was the one thing we did see..."  
  
"Now, who was with you on this trip?" she asked (Clear learned later that her name was Gisele).  
  
"Alex Browning and Carter Horton," Clear said, cringing a little as she said Carter's name. Truth be told she felt a bit guilty for his death – if she hadn't saved Alex, he wouldn't have died. But then, she thought, Alex would have died – and then she surely would never have forgiven herself. Not for as long as she lived.  
  
"Tell me about them," Gisele said, encouraging Clear with a smile. Clear thought she sensed her pensive mood, and wanted to keep her talking.  
  
"All right. Well this may sound kind of bad, because I know we're supposed to have sympathy for the dead and all...but Carter was an asshole. Rich, conceited, rude, disrespectful. He also had the star cheerleader as his girlfriend. She was one of the ones who died earlier, not in the plane," Clear said.  
  
"Go on," Gisele said, scribbling madly. "How did she die?"  
  
"Terri? She died...a bus ran over her." Gisele paused, glancing in Clear's direction to make sure she was OK, and then resumed writing. Clear took that as a signal to keep going.  
  
"Carter was still an asshole, right up until the day he died. Not as much as before, though. This is the kind of experience that changes you, and I guess he changed for the better. We were all getting drinks after we saw the Eiffel Tower, when Alex brought up the Design again. He noted some discrepancies. Logically, he would be next. Then, he just got up from the table and walked away. I think he was concerned that if I got up after him, which I would have if he hadn't stopped me, then I would mess up the Design, and someone would die when they shouldn't have. Turns out that's what happened anyways..."  
  
Paris, France. June 26th. 11:16 p.m.  
  
The sight before them was horrifying. Borne from complete unexpectation and the deep-seated fears they carried with them for six months, the situation held a certain bone-chilling familiarity they were still not used to, and not prepared for. Especially on a street in Paris on their vacation. They all figured that getting on a plane again would be the hard part. Relaxation and relief kicked in as they strode into the airport.  
  
Clear Rivers, now a blonde as she had been born, felt a twinge of guilt as they explored a few of the more famous sights and sounds the city had to offer. Her classmates would have loved to see this, she thought. They had died in a heartbreaking plane crash to Paris during the spring term of their senior year. They never made it past the airport. She gulped, feeling the sting of tears well in her eyes. She, Alex, Carter, Billy, Terri, and Mrs. Lewton were the only ones to survive. Then, just she, Alex, and Carter. Now, she realized with an overwhelming sadness and guilty relief, it was just she and Alex. She was indeed heartbroken by the deaths of her classmates – and her friends – but was glad that of all the people that could've been with her, facing Death and all of its devious designs, Alex was the one.  
  
It had happened so fast, so innocently. All three of them were just having drinks at a small little café on a side-street of the main road. They were just heading back from the Eiffel Tower to get some refreshment and much- needed sleep after their journey over the Atlantic. Obviously someone – or something – had other ideas for them...  
  
Clear watched Alex walk down the street. She sat back, reluctantly, watching Carter chug down his beer. Her own Chardonnay covered the table, soaking Alex's rough sketch of the design, and spilling to the floor. Her eyes drifted back to Alex, still trudging down the sidewalk. Suddenly a searing pain shot through her like a thin bolt of white-hot lightning. It shocked her from head to toe. A red haze glazed over her eyes, and the suffocating fragrance of red wine mixed with the metallic smell of blood surged straight to her alerted senses. Instinctively, moving on sheer reflex, she turned her head 180 degrees. A large green-and-white bus charged down the street, swerving left and right every few feet. She turned back to Alex. He had reached the curb, and his pace had slowed. A feeling of utter fear quaked inside her.  
  
Through the red haze she felt her mind go blank, unusually calm for a nanosecond. She felt like she was watching herself in that quaint French café – like she was some meaningless character in a movie and she was an audience member yelling at herself to do something that could either make or break her own future and the lives of the other characters. She heard the sound of the bus behind her, a muffled clamor of engine and screeching wheels with every wild swerve. Without a moment's hesitation, as the red haze cleared and her sensed released the hostages of her rationale, all she heard was the relentless pounding in her ears, and her own voice, sounding completely different, shouting "Alex!"  
  
He turned instantly, her voice like a siren's call. Her eyes met his for a brief second as the bus zoomed past. Alex felt the tremors of its proximity, and the breeze blow through his hair and into his face. It reeked of machinery and gasoline. He blinked and squinted the dust out of his eyes. He fell back against the pavement of the sidewalk, breathing hard.  
  
Carter jumped up from the table. His chair fell backwards on the ground. Alex's heart pounded and his head was clattering with the realization of what had happened. He thought it over again, breaking out into a cold sweat. The bus...her voice...Carter...Carter...Carter was talking. His mind had been on auto-pilot. He answered on impulse; not really giving a fuck with Carter said or did. He had just cheated Death again. Again. The thought vaulted through his brain. He looked and saw Clear still frozen in her seat, stiff, and understandably shaken. He could see her taking in huge lungfuls of air, her eyes wide and full of fresh, unspoken terror. His eyes were still on Clear when Carter asked The Question. It broke him away from his firm grip on auto-pilot.  
  
"So who's next?"  
  
By the time Alex reacted with a glance, it was already too late. The sparkly red neon sign of Le Café Miro swung with gradual speed and hit with such incredible impact that the victim flew through the air, hitting the brick exterior of the café. The sign smashed into the west side of the building, destroying one side and leaving a heaping mass of dust and brick shambles. A small moment of silence followed, everyone watching with hushed anticipation. Then, the sign slid off the café and clattered to the sidewalk. The people inside rushed out in a screaming mass. Passers-by formed a large semi-circle around the collision.  
  
Clear watched all of this take place, falling forward on the sidewalk with a hand cupped around her mouth. She felt the bile in her throat rise up, but swallowed it back down, ignoring the sick taste. Then, she screamed. Her voice was ear-splitting, harsh, and vibrant. She dragged her right leg forward and heaved herself to her feet.  
  
Alex had recoiled when the sign hit the café. Sweat and tears dripped down his face, and down his chin. His limbs felt heavy – stone heavy. Then he heard Clear's scream. It was like a dagger to his heart. He'd never heard someone in so much pain. The scream died down to a wailing lament. Several people in the group that was gathered around the café turned to find the origin of the sound. He saw Clear struggle to get up, heading for the collision site. She pushed through the thick crowd of on-lookers. Alex, fighting against the burden of his legs, managed to stand up and make it to where Clear had stepped forward next to the café. His legs wobbled as he joined her. He heard her crying and sniffling, and felt her pain as if it were his own. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked it away.  
  
"Carter", she said slowly, as if she were asking a question. A question she already knew the answer to. "Carter...please...," she said, rushing forward to where the sign had left an indentation in the brick. Underneath was what she looked for. "Carter, not you too!" she shrieked, lunging for what was under the sign. Alex stepped in between, facing her, and she ended up collapsing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, her wet cheeks staining his jacket. "Carter, you fuck!" she screeched. She dissolved into more wrenching sobs. It suddenly occurred to Alex that she wasn't just crying for Carter, but for the others, and their classmates. Her sobs echoed his sadness. They were two people who'd seen too much, been through Hell and back, holding onto each other with everything they had, not caring who saw them.  
  
"My God," Clear said. Gradually the scene around them unfolded into chaos. The brick siding struck by the sign was reduced to rubble. Police and ambulance cars wailed in the distance, accompanied by the ceaseless screams of frightened children and people in the accident.  
  
Alex's mouth tensed into a grim, thin line. He rocked Clear side to side in his arms, whispering words to soothe her. He knew for a fact this had been no accident. Since Clear intervened to save him, Carter had been the sacrifice. He held her closer, and then kissed her forehead in thanks. His eyes faced the street, where the ambulance and authorities were now arriving. He heard people describing the incident to others. Death made no accidents, he thought. It planned, It acted...  
  
"Alex...I...I," Clear struggled to say. He quickly shushed her. Now that it was only them, Alex would vow to protect her. She was independent and headstrong, but she needed him. Through all the madness of death and destruction, all he was truly concerned with was Clear's safety. He loved her more than life itself.  
  
"I felt her go in limp in my arms soon after, then she fell forward. Her blonde hair shielded her face..." Alex could hear himself speak, but felt a strange force moving his mouth. His voice sounded different, strangled. The French officer was situated on the other side of the table, still taking notes...  
  
"Clear!" he called, pushing the golden locks away from her cheeks quickly. He shook her shoulder gently, and paled when she wouldn't wake up. "Somebody help, please!" he shouted, yet no one seemed to hear him. The authorities that had recently arrived were fishing Carter's body out of the restaurant-in-shambles. An ambulance pulled up to the curb. A large crowd had gathered around the destruction site. Behind them, pushing their way to the front, were the paparazzi, cameras flashing and immortalizing the fatal scene. The entire street had been taped off by the police, who carried small notepads on which they scribbled accounts of the accident divulged by witnesses.  
  
Alex cradled Clear, and then picked her up, on arm under the small of the back, and the other under her legs. He scooped her up and carried her to the ambulance. When he reached the red and white truck, they had found Carter and were wheeling him in. Alex stood stunned for a moment, watching. Carter could be with Terri now. They were together. Then Alex stepped forward.  
  
"Wait!" he called. "Here," he said, placing Clear on a stretcher. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it. It was motionless, but exuded vitality despite her unconscious state. The medics surrounded her immediately, checking her stats, and then wheeled her in. Without hesitation, Alex jumped into the ambulance, still holding onto Clear's hand. He never let go.  
  
fin 


End file.
